


The Good

by OpportunityRover



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, George do be scared of physical touch, I fr wrote this instead of sleeping, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, also title subject to change, dreamnotfound, evil sapnap ig, it's literally 6:19am, its more likely than you think, no beta we die like tubbo, probably gonna be gunshot wounds fyi folks, self-projection? on these characters?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27326575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpportunityRover/pseuds/OpportunityRover
Summary: Beneath the lip of the mask, Dream grinned at George.“How’s it feel to be one-hundred dollars richer, Georgie?” He drawled, lazy grin still stretched on his face as he pulled his horse to a stop adjacent to George’s mount. He drew a knife out of its hiding place to cut through the bonds behind George’s back, letting the thick rope drop to the dust.The first thing George did with his newfound freedom from bondage was to smack Dream on the shoulder roughly, glaring at the man with venom in his gaze."You nearly let me get pulled off the horse, what’s the matter with you? Got nothin’ under that hat but hair, do you then?"_______________(aka, dnf but western)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 162





	1. Rope Burns

**Author's Note:**

> **obligatory dnf disclaimer:**  
>  This ain’t about the real people, I don’t ship irl people together and normally I wouldn’t even write something like this, but the people involved have expressed that they’re ok with this. (mfs almost encourage it for that sweet, sweet content) So here we are boys. If at any point Dream or George express discomfort with people writing their personas like this then absolutely I’ll take it down. Please don't leave hate comments about it, they will be deleted.
> 
> ALSO: _Please_ do not link this to any of the dream team/ccs in general. Not that I think any of y'all would but it's disrespectful to the people I'm using the personas of and I don't want to make them uncomfortable <333
> 
> **other notes:**  
>  elements taken from the good, the bad, and the ugly so props to good ol' Sergio Leone who is probably rolling in his grave rn seeing some idiot writing gay Minecraft fanfiction using some of his plot points <333

The restless stamp of the horse’s hooves beneath him was all George could focus on. And who could blame him, when that horse was quite literally all that was standing between him and a long drop on a short rope? George shifted nervously in the saddle, knees tightening and loosening around the horse between his legs as he tried to seat himself as securely in the saddle as he could. He couldn’t help but wonder when the man would get on with the job, the low murmur of the crowd around him slowly becoming an impatient buzz of morbid excitement. As if on cue, someone shoved the rope around George’s neck, pulling it snug beneath his jaw like it was the most natural place for it to be in the world.

“Enjoyin’ your hemp necktie, boy? You’ll be wearin’ it soon when you meet your maker.” The owner of the voice chuckled, a sound as gratingly rough as the rope that bound his wrists together behind his back. George offered no response, grimacing as the man tugged on the rope around his neck once, twice, three times to check it was secure, before stepping back. Then that nasally voice rang in George’s ears once more, listing off a long string of offenses that George had allegedly committed. Only half of them were true, but George wasn’t in any position to argue. He sat, sweat gathering on his forehead as the late summer sun beat down on his neck without mercy.

Finally the awful yammering stopped, and it was just George, the horse, and a heavy silence.

George thought he could hear the sweat trickling down his face in the pressing quiet.

Then several things happened all at once.

First, the rise and fall of the man’s hand, landing squarely on the hindquarters of the horse. Next the horrible surge forwards, the rope ravenously biting into his neck, legs slipping from the stirrups even as George frantically tried to hook the toes of his boots in them. And finally, nearly in the same instant, the loud double _bang_ of two shots and suddenly the pressure from around George’s neck was gone as soon as it had arrived.

It was just him and the horse now, George’s legs gripping the sides of the beast with as much strength as they possessed, the two of them darting off into the desert nearly as fast as the bullet had traveled through the rope moments before. Somehow, the two of them maneuvered through the rough, unforgiving terrain, weaving through a maze of rock and mesquite until he came to a depression in the land, surrounded by a scattering of boulders that only just hid him from the view of anyone from miles around. George was damn lucky he had a good horse, his hands still tied securely behind his back the whole time. They had planned the meet-up place in nearly a straight line from the gallows for a reason, having anticipated the difficulties in steering the horse.

He sat in the saddle there for what felt like ages, unable to swing himself down with his hands bound behind his back without landing ass-first in the dust. The desert was devoid of sound, save the constant pressing noise of the wind. It carried grit into George’s face, and he found himself squinting into the wind, impatiently resting. His ears strained alongside his eyes, searching his surroundings for something to appear along the horizon.

He heard it first.

The quick stepping of a horse, slower the closer it came, accompanied by the rustle of fabric and the clink of something distinctly… monetary. It was music to George’s ears, music he hadn’t been sure he was going to hear.

The dark-haired man had taken a serious risk, and it had paid off. Finally, a man on horseback came into view, rounding the sandy rock that hid George and his horse so well and coming to face him. His accomplice wore what he always wore, and George was glad to see it. A white cotton shirt and faded green suede jerkin, a simple pair of pants, a brown and equally faded hat, and most importantly, a white, featureless mask, covering the nose and eyes of his partner. If it weren’t for his attire, George wouldn’t have been able to pick Dream out of a crowd if he tried. Other than his height (far too tall, if you asked George), it was the most noticeable thing about him. George had never seen his face, he wouldn’t know the man without his mask on.

Beneath the lip of the mask, Dream grinned at George.

“How’s it feel to be one-hundred dollars richer, Georgie?” He drawled, lazy grin still stretched on his face as he pulled his horse to a stop adjacent to George’s mount. He drew a knife out of its hiding place to cut through the bonds behind George’s back, letting the thick rope drop to the dust.

The first thing George did with his newfound freedom from bondage was to smack Dream on the shoulder roughly, glaring at the man with venom in his gaze.

“You nearly let me get pulled off the horse, what’s the matter with you? Got nothin’ under that hat but hair, do you then? And I told you, don’t go around callin’ me _Georgie_ , Dream” George rubbed his neck dramatically, burns from the rope evident on his pale skin there as well as his wrists. Despite all the time spent in the sun, his skin never seemed to tan, only burn and flake back to his default white. At first glance, he looked like some city-slicker that had just moved out west, new to the frontier. It was a look that had helped him con many a person out of their riches, and earned him an extensive list of crimes he was wanted for.

A list that he took advantage of, along with his newfound accomplice, a strange man he had met three towns over and come up with this hare-brained plot while pleading not to be turned in to the authorities outright.

“I’d think you’d be grateful you’re here chewing my ear off about a half a second spent in the air, instead of six feet under playing poker with the devil.” Dream shot back, swinging off his horse with the well-oiled ease of a man who had been doing that same motion all his life. George admired the smooth movement for a heartbeat, before climbing down his own mount soon after.

“I’d be more grateful if I didn’t have to partner up with a lowdown son of a bitch like you.” George shot back with hostility rubbing his wrists where the rope had cut into them. Dream fiddled with his horse’s saddle, finally hauling a clinking sack off the back of his mount.

“Here’s what it was all for.” He dropped the sack in the dirt, seating himself heavily down after it on one of the rocks. “Not too damn bad if I do say so myself. One-hundred for you, one-hundred for me.” Dream began to sort the money into two piles, George soon joining him on the ground. He had long since turned his nose up at the thought of sitting in the dust.

“Once morning comes, I was thinking we head off for a town or two a bit farther south. Neighboring settlements might have gotten wind of our little plot, and I’m not keen on joining you in the gallows.” George grumbled at this, eventually agreeing to the longer ride. It would give the authorities time to raise the bounty on his head, that was for sure. And while his pockets might be clinking for now, experience had taught him it never lasted long.

__

They rode out the next morning, after a breakfast of cold food from the night before and coffee so watery George could practically taste the fish swimming in it.Dream had made fun of the face he had made while drinking it, only to make a face of his own once he had tasted it.

“Not being dramatic _now_ , am I?” George had said, smug that he for once couldn’t be mocked by the other.

“Maybe not this time, but you’ll make up for it soon I’m sure. I swear you’re as dramatic as a dame sometimes.” Dream quipped back, and after George had tried to push him away for the insult, the journey was made in silence.

They stopped twice while the sun was still in the sky, once for lunch, and once for directions. George had been less than thrilled about the second stop. They’d put the ropes back on his wrists, in case the other traveller would be able to identify them later. It was vital that the duo kept up the guise that Dream had captured George and was bringing him in for bounty, or else Dream might join George on the wanted bulletin in every town within fifty miles. Just one innocent traveler noticing that the man ‘turning George in’ had been traveling with an unsecured outlaw only a couple days prior would leave the both of them in enough trouble that even Dream’s flannel mouth couldn’t talk them out of it.

For the second time in two days, George found himself rubbing his wrists after being untied, the skin burned raw and red from the course binding. When he looked up, he found Dream looking directly at him. Or as close to looking as the other could get, eyes still hidden behind the mask, as they had been since the two of them had met.

“What?” George asked, narrowing his eyes at the other and preparing for some sort of jab about George being dramatic.

“Do they hurt bad? Your-“ he gestured vaguely at George’s hands, the movement nonchalant, in contrast to the (surprisingly) worried tone his voice held.

George was suspicious.

“What, do you suddenly care?”

Dream looked like he was thinking over his next words before opening his mouth. “No use in injuring my partner, is there?” He quipped, mouth quirking upwards into the sly grin he always wore. “”Pretty wrists like yours, why they can be rather sensitive.”

George’s frown twisted into an even deeper scowl as he glared daggers into Dream’s mask. “You know, just because we’re partners don’t mean I would hesitate to knock you upside the head.”

“You’d have to be able to catch me first, and we both know you’re shit at riding fast.”

George sputtered, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled. “You’re such an idiot Dream.” He responded lamely, unable to come up with a better insult.

“Oh come on, you can do better than that.” Dream was beginning to chuckle, a very dangerous thing indeed. He had a habit of falling into wheezing laugh attacks that lasted entirely too long for George’s patience.

“Of all the people that had to be stuck with, it had to be you didn’t it?” George grumbled under his breath, tapping his heels against his horse’s side to spur him forwards.

“There’s worse company out there.” There was an awkward pause before Dream continued talking. “You didn’t answer my question.” He had urged his own horse forward, cutting off George.

“Your question?” George asked, an eyebrow raised. Both of their horses were at a standstill and taking advantage of it, immediately turning their noses to nose at the scrubby growth around them.

“About your wrists. They look like they’re bothering you.” George offered no response, feeling as though the discomfort was pretty self explanatory. He looked down at the rope burned skin, raw and slowly turning leathery in the gritty air. He was so absorbed in his inspection of the sore skin that he jumped when he felt the gentle pressure of another’s hands on the backside of his own. The hands were connected to Dream, his face unreadable beneath the mask.

George hastily snatched his wrists away from Dream’s gentle grasp, his stupid pale face coloring a soft red as he glared daggers at Dream.

“What are you doing.” It was less of a question and more of a wary command for information, the shorter man clearly unused to Dream’s touch.

“Relax, Georgie. I only want a closer look.” Dream held his hands out, palms up and opened wide. Tentatively, George bared his wrists to the other again, allowing Dream to wrap his calloused fingers around them again. He gently tugged them a little closer, forcing George to shift in his saddle to accommodate.

“These are gonna hurt like a bitch if we don’t get something on them to protect against the grit.” Dream let go of one of his hands, rummaging around in his saddle back until he pulled out two of his dusty old bandanas, and his canteen. George watched as he wetted the cloth with his precious water, fitting the damp cloth carefully around the dark-haired man’s wrists.

“There.” They were about as close as they could get while still being seated on separate horses, Dream’s large hands still cradling his own for a brief moment after the work was done. George turned away and pretended that the sudden heat flooding his face was from exposure to the sun.

__

They didn’t talk much more until the sun had dipped below the hard line where sky met dust, the stars just barely asserting their existence as the light faded.

The duo risked a fire that night, both of them getting settled as the darkness deepened. A chorus of coyotes was raising hell somewhere nearby, the short howls making the hairs raise on the back of George’s neck. He shivered as the night closed in.

He found himself rubbing the cloth around his wrists absentmindedly, the fresh rawness from earlier fading into a low grade, pulsing pain with the added protection. He wasn’t looking forwards to putting the ropes back on, but he would do just about anything for some coin. Besides, he wasn’t one to shy away from pain. He wasn’t the same city slicker that had stumbled onto the western scene two years ago. He had sobered up quick and learned all that he could about the new, unspoken laws of the land.

He had learned all about those laws, then broken them.

He hadn’t been to church since he had stepped foot in Arizona. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him now, he was sure. And for that he was almost glad. If she ever caught wind of half of the things he had done, she would be absolutely inconsolable. He stared into the fading embers of the fire, dark eyes reflecting the flames that still flickered feebly in the dry desert air. He picked up a round stone and thumbed its smooth surface before throwing it into the coals, the thin line of his mouth pulling into a frown.

He used to be respectable once. Now? Well, just look at the company he kept. His eyes turned from the embers to Dream’s still masked face, studying him with a quiet intensity. What odd company he kept indeed. Not for the first time, he wondered what was underneath that mask.

“Taking in my good looks, Georgie?” George’s scowl deepened. He was almost glad for his slightly sunburned cheeks, the dusting of red from his blush indiscernible from the overlay of red he had gained from the blistering sun.

“Don’t go all queer on me Dream.” He responded simply, knowing his words would have no real discouraging effect on the other but saying them anyway. Luckily, he had found out Dream was all talk and jokes. It let the unease that had fluttered in his stomach during the first few weeks of their partnership rest, assured that Dream would never try any… _funny_ business. At least, George told himself it was unease he was feeling.

_Fuck_ , he was not letting his thoughts go down that road again.

Dream hadn’t said anything in reply, instead standing to add a meager couple of twigs to the fire before returning to his saddlebags, taking out his canteen to take a swig before presumably retiring for the night. George tore his eyes away from the sight of Dream’s adam’s apple as he swallowed, rubbing his wrists anxiously, though anxious about what he didn’t rightly know. A man had a right to be anxious whenever he damn well pleased, when the way he made his money was by putting his neck in a noose every other week. _Especially_ when the person they were counting on to get them out of that noose was as unstable as Dream.

He retired from the rock by the fire he had been perching on, yawning as he slipped underneath his meager bedrolls and turned his back to the cold world outside the fire’s circle of light. Morning was sure to bring another miserable day, but at least he could drift into blissful unconsciousness until then. Not thinking at all was a sizable improvement from thinking about his situation- about who he had become.

About what he had _let_ himself become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hemp necktie- noose  
> Flannel mouth- smooth/fancy talker
> 
> ___
> 
> comments/kudos are fr appreciated, I will give you a Kiss if you leave either


	2. Cigarette Break

George was riding hard, kicking up dust like the devil himself was on his heels. The horse beneath him let out labored breaths, sweat lathering its flanks in a steamy white froth. Nearly adjacent to him, George could see another trail of dust getting kicked up by Dream’s mount. His heart was already beating quickly from the adrenaline of the moment, a huge grin splitting his features as Dream came steadily closer.

Without thinking, he rose up in his stirrups, letting out a gleeful whoop in greeting. An answering one came immediately back, Dream pumping his fist in the air as they slowly drew side by side. They were long out of town by then, their horses exhausted from the hard ride and the desert heat. Slowly, the duo drew them to a standstill.

As soon as the horses had come to a stop, there was a rush of movement and George felt sinewy-strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him out of the saddle and spinning him to the ground. Dream was laughing heartily and George found it near impossible not to join in on the euphoria of the moment, a laugh escaping his own lips.

“We did it!” The grin on the tall outlaw’s face was wide beneath the mask as he pulled back from the surprising embrace. “We really did it this time George!” He reached for George’s neck and the shorter man drew back in a panic, blinking at Dream.

“Relax sweetheart, I was only reaching for the rope.” He chuckled, reaching again towards George’s neck , much slower this time. George was sure Dream could feel his heart beating through the fibers of the binding as he loosened and slipped it over his dark-haired head. His companion’s dusty-colored hair tickled his cheek as Dream worked the ropes off, Dream far too close for George’s comfort. He could feel the ghost of Dream’s breath on his cheek, a hint of heat from the warm body a mere few inches away from him.

He just _knew_ his face was burning, damn his pale complexion. The thought suddenly crossed his mind that it had been far too long since they had spent the night in a town with a cathouse.

A quick slash of his knife, and George’s wrists were free as well. George winced, old injuries burning fresh and painful as the tattered remains of the rope slid off them. But his injuries were soon forgotten when he saw the wad of green in Dream’s hands, the faded bills brightening his mood almost instantly. Even in the cowboy’s large hands, the stack of greenbacks looked sizably thick.

“How… how much?” George whispered, reverently running a thumb along the side of the stack.

“Five hundred, can you believe it? Looks like you’re catching some attention from the lawmen. Can’t blame them, with that mug it’s hard not to attract some wandering eyes.”

George shot him a look of annoyance, the odd mix of anxiety and what he always categorized as _disgust_ blossoming in his chest again at Dream’s pseudo-flirting. He wasn’t some fast trick, and he didn’t appreciate the jokes that the flamboyant outlaw often cracked at his expense.

But he sure _could_ appreciate two-hundred-and-fifty whole dollars. He could appreciate that a hell of a lot, and he could put up with a hell of lot more for that much money. He changed the subject stiffly, turning his attention to his mount.

“We should let the horses have an hour or two break before we move on, they’ve been ridden into the dust.”

“There’s a riverbed about a half-mile away, we can water them there.” Dream suggested, taking the hint. George nodded, gripping the familiar leather of the reins in his off hand as he stowed away the money. The ride to the river was short, the shade from the mesquite a welcome change from the daring heat of the sun. Dream and George sat beneath opposing trees, George’s hands behind his head.

He studied his partner for a moment, blatantly staring at the pale mask covering his features. After a handful of awkward moments had passed between them, he finally spoke.

“Why do you wear that old thing? Get burned in a fire or something?” George gestured to the mask, then tucked his hand back behind his head. The sparse shade was a welcome reprove from the simmering heat of the barren land.

Dream shifted in his place, sitting up and drawing out loose tobacco leaf and some paper from one of his pockets. “Nah, I’ve got a normal face under here.” He replied nonchalantly, beginning to roll a cigarette. The quirky looked small in his hands, just like most everything did when Dream had ahold of it. George had to admit to himself that he had some sort of fascination with Dream’s hands, in their deft skill in nearly everything Dream commanded them to do. Whether it be cleaning a fish or pulling a gun, they always performed it with ease.

“If you’ve got a normal face under there, then why wear it all the time?” George pressed, curiosity getting the best of him.

Dream took his time replying. A match flickered to life as he raised it to the butt of the cigarette, illuminating the shadows of his lower face. George sat mesmerized by the sight of Dream’s lips closing around the cig and drawing smoke, the haze curling around his face and lazily twisting into the space between them, where it blended with the air and disappeared. After a few puffs, Dream decided to answer.

George still couldn’t quite bring himself to draw his gaze away.

“As long as I got this mask on, I’m still myself underneath it. Everybody knows me when I wear it, but if I take it off, I can be whoever I want. I can quit being an outlaw any day I want, change up my style, hell even buy my own little homestead.” His tone had turned wistful,and George was sure if he could see Dream’s eyes, they would carry the far-off look that George himself had often worn when imagining the future.

“That’s what I plan on doing anyway, once I get bored of all this,” Dream continued. The easy smile had turned into a bitter frown, but George didn’t press him about it. He had done enough digging into Dream’s thoughts for the moment, and so he fell silent.

Not even a handful of heartbeats later, George’s silence paid off. Dream seemed to decide to fill the quiet moment with a continuation of his thoughts, as fluid as the smoke that continued to swirl into the sky.

“I just got a little mixed up with the wrong people is all. Once I pay off my debts, I can— I can get the hell out of here.” The outlaw took one last drag and then offered the quirly to George.

“Oh.” George responded softly, reaching for the smoke he was offered, not one to pass up a cigarette, especially when it was already rolled. He inhaled the smoke, holding it in his mouth for a moment before letting it enter his lungs. He exhaled with a lazy smile while he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. “I guess I haven’t been myself for a very long time then.” He continued, letting his eyes flutter open again and expression grow far off. Remorse settled into his limbs as heavy as the oppressive heat.

George drew another breath from the cigarette and let the hard thoughts grow a little farther away. “I used to be a city slicker. Had to move out West after my father packed up and moved out with the whore next door.” George’s voice was harsh now, hand coming down to thumb at the butt of his gun. “I nearly shot the bastard. Would’ve too, if it weren’t for my mother.”

His mother… He missed her dearly, but he knew he could never go back, could never let her see what he had become. “It was her idea, sending me West. Heard there was more opportunities out here, all that bullshit.” George chuckled bitterly before continuing. “She didn’t know any better, and neither did I.”

Dream nodded in agreement, letting George continue.

“I got out here and it was like I had moved to China. Everything was different and I couldn’t hit the ground running. I couldn’t— I-” He didn’t know why he felt the need to justify the decisions he had made to Dream, but the words tumbled out of his mouth like they were fighting to be I the open. “I found the wrong people at the right time. I guess you understand that bit. I did things… well you’ve heard the list of my ‘sins against humanity’, or whatever that fool judge wants to call them.” His voice was cold and sarcastic as he tried to mask the ache that he felt whenever he thought about all that he’d done.

George could practically recite the list of his transgressions, real or false, in his sleep. He was sure Dream could too. It was all he had to focus on while he waited for the rope to tighten around his neck. He had lived his punishment a dozen times over, waiting with a rope around his neck. Someday he knew that rope would tighten, and no freeing shot would come.

“Guess the world ain’t as black and white as Sunday school made it out to be.” Dream murmured, humming a low tune.

“Guess so.” George responded morosely, letting the hand holding the cigarette drop to his thigh. Seeming to remember his companion, he offered what was left to Dream, who accepted it without pause.

“You know,” Dream paused to inhale, “you might be the most uptight fella I’ve ever ridden with.”

George sputtered, trying to cut in with a defense but quickly interrupted by a wheeze from Dream. “Calm down George, I’m not finished,” he squeezed out between easy laughter. “Like I was saying, you’re pretty damn uptight, but I think you might be the only man that really understands it.” Dream’s voice was barely above a murmur now, his head tipped back to rest against the tree trunk.

George’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. “You know Dream, sometimes you’re _almost_ tolerable.” There was the faintest hint of teasing affection in his words, a warmth that rarely made it past George’s intentionally cool demeanor. “What do you mean, ‘it’?”

Dream shrugged, gesturing to the sky. “You know… _it._ ”

“Very helpful Dream, thank you for clearing that one up.” George shot back, raising an eyebrow.

The other outlaw exhaled, shifting his position in the dirt. “Being an outlaw, I mean. Most of the men I’ve ridden with aren’t exactly the soft type, they don’t talk much.”

George’s expression instantly changed, his eyes narrowing. “Soft?” He spat, preparing to round on Dream for the insult.

But the words never came, because all of the sudden the small shaded area broke out in a violent whirl of movement. Nearly a half dozen men emerged from the thin line of trees around the watering hole, guns pointed at the outlaw duo, tracking their every movement. In a flash they were both on their feet, their own guns pulled from where they resided on their hips, the soft click of the revolver a clear sound in the sudden standstill.

Outnumbered and outmaneuvered, George was forced to set his gun down in the dust, hands splayed wide and raised to shoulder height.

“You leave behind an interesting trail, Dream.” A voice drawled, the person attached to it stepping forwards out of the brush ad into view. He was taller than George, with a fringe of dark colored hair peeking out from beneath the brim of his hat and a sly look in his eyes.

“People have been telling stories about you, you know.” The cadence of his voice was smooth and smug, his revolver pointed lazily at the center of Dream’s chest like he expected him to try something. How Dream could so much as sneeze and get away with it was beyond George, they were vastly outnumbered.

The stranger and Dream stared each other down for a moment, both of them refusing to be the first to look away. George almost laughed at the obvious display for dominance, the silence stretching on uncomfortably long, though in reality not much of it had passed. It was not long until George couldn’t take the suspense.

“It seems you and Dream have already met, but I don’t believe I’ve had the misfortune. You are?” Finally the stranger’s eyes diverted from Dream’s faceless mask, regarding the shorter man skeptically. George refused to engage in the weird posturing, maintaining a blasé expression.

“I’m Sapnap.” The man offered at length, drawing out his a’s ever so slightly. George would almost call his voice pleasant if it weren’t for the circumstances. The firearms in his face sure had a way of putting a damper on things.

“Alright, _Sapap_ then, why are you here? I hardly think two people with tired mounts warrant seven guns.” George was never one to soften his dry comments, even in the face of danger. Besides, if this Sapnap had planed on killing the two of them, George probably wouldn’t be still above snakes.

Dream however seemed significantly more worried by his careless tone, his stance shifting so he was standing more or less between George and the majority of the weaponry pointed at the two of them. George could feel his stomach flutter, a sure byproduct of the situation they were in.

“Ignore him, he’s just someone I’ve been working with, no concern to you.” Sapnap eyed George for a moment more, before a wide smile slowly split his face, the toothy leer bearing more of a resemblance to a grimace than a grin. George gripped the light fabric of Dream’s shirt for assurance as he moved forwards an inch or two to get into a better position.

“Are you going to answer or-” Dream cut George off with a swift elbow to the ribcage, shooting an indiscernible look over his shoulder ( _damn_ that mask) before turning to Sapnap once again.

“If this is about my— my uh… departure, I can explain. I can pay you back, or—“ Dream was cut off by a swift punch to the gut by Sapnap. The tall cowboy doubled over immediately, gasping in pain. Without a single thought George found his own fist connecting with Sapnap’s jaw seconds later, his reflexes surprising even himself. There seemed to be some unspoken rule against using lead to settle whatever dispute George was caught up in, because instead of a bullet, George was hit with two hard punches to his own midsection.

For a moment he couldn’t even breathe as he dropped to his knees, a groan escaping his lips. Before he had a chance to recover he was being pulled back up by a hand in his hair.

His eyes met Sapnap’s own. The stranger’s eyes were dark, darker than George’s, and _angry_.

There was a struggle behind George as Sapnap dragged George to his feet, twisting him around painfully while he cocked his revolver ad shoved it against George’s neck, digging it into the sensitive rope burns with a snarl.

“Now,” Sapnap growled, shaking George’s arm threateningly. “Enough talking, honestly I find it boring. Especially when it comes from this one’s mouth.” He shook George pointedly before continuing. "I do want my goddamn money, Dream, and I want it _now_. No smooth-talking, no tricks, nothing. Or I swear to hell I’ll make your pretty little friend _bleed_.” George wasn’t the picture of an unbothered criminal now, his face twisted in pain as Sapnap gripped his hair, the cool metal of the gun kissing his neck in an embrace that promised a violent end.

Dream was being held by two of Sapnap’s accomplices, clearly having tried to back George after the stunt he had pulled but gravely outnumbered. George couldn’t see his face, but he could hear him breathing hard behind the mask, his jaw clenched in anger.

“Fine. Search our things, you’ll find enough to repay my debt in there. Just let him _go_ , you glorified mouthpiece.” He spat, venom in his voice. Through a haze of pain and discomfort, George found himself wishing he could see Dream’s eyes just then.

With a subtle prompt from Sapnap, a couple of the men began to sort through the packs on their horses, throwing things onto the dust haphazardly in search of their prize. George lurched forwards as they pulled the wad of greenbacks from the semi-hidden pocket of his bags before letting out a moan of pain when Sapnap aimed the heel of his boot at George’s leg, his pants preventing the spurs from breaking skin, but the blunt force enough to add to the symphony of dull pain coursing through George’s system.

“Thank you for your service there, darlin’.” Sapnap muttered in George’s ear, releasing his grip on George’s dark hair as he backed away from the duo. George fell to the dirt with he release of pressure, clutching his stomach in pain and curling inwards on himself. Sapnap’s revolver was still cocked and trained on the both of them, the wide grin reappearing on his face as he swung back into his saddle.

“Consider us even now, Dreamie sweetheart. I’m sure this won’t be the last you see of me.” With a tip of his hat, Sapnap and the gang of men following him lurched into motion, kicking up dust as they rode away hard. If it weren’t for the knots holding George and Dream’s horses, he was sure they would’ve followed suite. There was one thing George could be grateful for at least.

The second their backs were turned, Dream was surging forwards towards George, turning him so his head rested on Dream’s knee, his rough hands smoothing the black strands of sweaty hair away from George’s face.

“You ok parter?” Dream asked, checking George over for serious injury.

George pushed the outlaw’s hands away from him aggressively, wincing as he tried to bring himself to an upright position. “Don’t you touch me, don’t you fuckin’ _touch_ me!” George hissed at him, stifling a grunt of pain. 

“Explain to me,” he paused to prop himself against a tree, glaring at Dream, “what in the seven hells that was about.”

Dream seemed to hesitate, but George wasn’t going to have any of it.

“Now.”

Dream inhaled softly beneath the mask, nodding his head. "Alright, you... deserve to know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast trick- ‘loose’ woman  
> Quirly- another word for cigarette, usually a hand-rolled one  
> Mesquite- type of tree/shrub typically found in the desert  
> Above snakes- above ground (still alive)  
> Cathouse- brothel
> 
> ___
> 
> if you're a returning reader or someone who decided to give this fic a chance, I love you man! Really really really appreciate kudos/comments, y'all absolutely astonished me last chapter <333 per usual, leave either and I will give you a kiss and probably also confess my love (?) we'll see


	3. Heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the uhh… month long unannounced hiatus? Really going through it right now but I’m back! Also my n key is on the fritz so if you notice any n’s missing (or other spelling errors) lmk please. I tried to catch them all but I edited this at 4am so some probably slipped through.

_“Alright, you… deserve to know.”_

George looked at him expectantly. The seconds yawned on longer and longer, the sounds of stamping hooves and swishing tails the only backdrop of noise in an otherwise still world.

He began hesitantly, his voice quieter than it normally was.

“You could probably guess it, but uh— that ‘wrong sort’ of people that I mentioned earlier, that was Sapnap’s gang.” Dream ran his fingers through dusty blond hair, head tilted so he wasn’t quite facing George. Like he couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes.

“I never would’ve guessed,” George deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

“Sapnap wasn’t all bad… not at first. He and I came from the same background. Older kids with no parents, no ties, striking out on our own. I- well he offered me a place with his gang, nothing real hurtful just some smalltime cow rustlin’, things like that. I don’t remember when it got big, but it did and then suddenly I was in deep.”

Everything about Dream’s body language screamed discomfort, his fingers tangled in his unruly hair as he nervously messed with it. His other hand thumbed absentmindedly at the leather of his holster, posture tense and rigid against the tree he rested on.

George almost felt bad about pressing into his past.

_Almost._

The tack and odd assortment of belongings strewn around their makeshift resting place kindled enough fuel for his anger to continue to simmer, hot as the stagnant air resting heavily around them both.

“Once we started… hurting real people— you know, regular folk— I decided it was time for me to part ways and go off on my own. Only Sapnap didn’t much like the idea, see. Especially since I left with half the money we’d made from our last job.” Dream had the audacity to flash a grin, clearly proud of himself for managing to swindle the outlaw.

“So… here we are.”

“Here we are.”

He parroted the phrase back without much thought.The words felt heavy on his tongue.

Dream’s gaze finally seemed to line up with George’s, and they regarded each other carefully for a moment, no doubt trying to gauge how the other was feeling in that moment.

If he wasn’t going to talk first, fine. George would.

“Well you got us into this mess Dream, didn’t you? Looks like you’re gonna get us out of it too.” He voiced grimly. He had just been getting comfortable with Dream, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do for a long, long time. Not since he’d left home and came out West.

He guessed he should’ve known better by now. Attachments weren’t something one should hold in high regard West of the Mississippi, that was verifiable. The saddle wasn’t much of a place to make friends— not that he and Dream had _ever_ been friends.

“If it means I get to spend more time with you, I don’t think I’ll mind it all that much.” The infuriating confidence had begun to seep back into Dream’s voice, a quality that George wasn’t all too keen on dealing with in that moment. It invoked a sense of queasiness that George had come to associate with most of Dream’s more suspect antics, harmless though they were.When he had begun to think of the other outlaw as _harmless_ , he wasn’t quite sure, but the blank white expanse of the mask no longer bore in him an uncomfortable sense of unease. Instead it had become familiar almost, the unnerving wide smile something he had grown accustomed to.

“I’d rather spend my time touring a bone orchard than another day with your sorry ass in the saddle, but I guess I don’t have much of a _choice_ now, thanks to you.” He snipped, groaning as he shuffled to his feet, stomach aching in pain from their earlier misadventures.

“Is that why you stayed working with me so long then, Georgie?” Dream instantly quipped back, the beginnings of a wheezing laugh building up in the dirty blonde’s lungs.

“The only reason I stuck around was for the money, you cad.”

“So when you punched Sapnap, that was on behalf of the money?” Dream was so infuriatingly smug, it made George inexplicably furious.

“Oh, then I suppose you just immediately give up that much money for any old partner getting roughed up then.” George’s tone was deliciously apathetic, his purposefully disinterested gaze flicking to Dream’s mask, challenging him to come up with a response to _that_.

Dream raised his palms in a display of acceptance, his wheezing laugh growing more prominent. “I already admitted you’re fine company, you want more from me or something, darlin’? A bit forward if you ask me.”

George could feel his unbothered facade slipping, his damn complexion once again betraying him as his sunburnt face flushed several shades more red. “Shut up.” He hissed uncomfortably, pushing himself away from he tree he had been leaning against to stagger forwards, eyes on the mess around them.

Dream offered a hand to steady him, which George very pointedly ignored in favor of leaning down to begin re-sorting their items, brushing the debris off of them before storing them back with the horses. Dream and him worked in silence, the ache in George’s abdomen gradually fading to an uncomfortable soreness as he loosened up. Riding tomorrow was going to be hell, that was for sure. Most likely for Dream too, he knew the other man hadn’t escaped the outlaws’ punches either.

They finished a little while later and were on their way, both of them agreeing that they should follow their original plan to get some cash to hold them over while they brainstormed what to do about Sapnap. Dream had filled George in more on the road, and the two of them needed to come up with some ideas.

“If I know anything about Sapnap, it’s that he’s not gonna leave me alone until he feels like I’ve fully paid. I embarrassed him in front of his men when I stole from him, and I got a feeling that was just the beginning of his revenge. It felt too easy, him letting us go like that. He… well he likes violence. A lot. He’s always itchin’ for a fight, and the range wars around these parts have been quiet for a good long time. He ain’t got nothing to focus on right now, other than me.” Dream’s usual grin was absent, a worried frown in its place.

“I think we should do one or two more of these jobs, then I should go off alone. He won’t really care too much about you, even after all that lip you gave him.”

At the thought of them splitting up, George felt a stab of panic run through his chest. Maybe it was the idea of having to go back to scraping by to make a living, maybe it was the thought of not having someone at his back when he travelled, but whatever the reason he had no desire to split off from Dream, at least not that soon. Deep down, he knew he should want to get as far away from Dream as he could. The masked outlaw brought trouble wherever he went, hell he had cost George his fortune, but… well he would have time to think about it more later wouldn’t he? There was no need to analyze everything about the situation just then, and they both had a couple ‘jobs’ before they could afford to part ways anyways. No use agonizing over it now, when there were other things to worry about.

So George responded with a shrug and a vague “We’ll see,” intentionally refusing to continue the conversation further. They travelled until the moon replaced the sun with its weak light, and then they settled for the night, staring up at the smattering of stars overhead as the darkness deepened around them.

George fell asleep first, listening to the low humming that came from Dream’s bedroll, the vibrations lulling him to sleep as the fire crackled lower and lower in the night.

__

He had been right about being sore in the saddle the next day. Both Dream and George had limped around the campsite in the pale morning light, wincing whenever they had to make abrupt movements. George wore a scowl all throughout breakfast (a small affair— reheated coffee and crumbly biscuits), clearly not in the best of moods. Even Dream and his usual abundance of casual banter was absent from the morning meal.

His stomach wasn’t the only thing complaining in the saddle as they trudged on closer to their destination. From the horse next to him, Dream would _not_ stop letting out a constant stream of consciousness, clearly recovering from his morning blues.

George would think it an endearing trait to have in a companion, had the topics been slightly less _whiney_.

“You know the son of a bitch could’ve at _least_ had the decency not to stamp all over the jerky, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t _stolen_ from him, you’d still have your stupid snack.” George was unamused, letting out a huff of frustration. It had been like this for hours as Dream slowly took stock of the damage caused to the contents of his saddlebag from the previous day’s misadventures. The man was very vocal about his displeasure, and George thought it was getting old.

“Well if I hadn’t stolen from him, we never would’ve met and I wouldn’t have jerky for him to trample, _George_.”

“Even better, _Dream_.” George snarked, rolling his eyes. “And you were callin’ me whiney the other day.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t shut _up_ about your neck hurting—“

“Well maybe if you had just shot the rope faster—“

“Well maybe if _you_ hadn’t snapped at the judge reading out your crimes—“

“You try sitting around waiting for the noose around your neck to tighten!”

“I’d probably handle it better than you—“

“God, do you ever just _shut. up._ ”

“Why, you gonna make me?” Dream raised his eyebrows above the cusp of his mask, grin spreading across his face plain as the daylight.

George pulled his horse to a stop, wheeling the animal around to face Dream head on.

“Yeah, maybe I will.” He responded simply, setting his jaw as he swung out of the saddle, ignoring the wheeze that came out of Dream.

“What, you think you can fight me George? No offense, but you’re not exactly—“

George had heard just about enough come out of that mouth, and without a moment’s hesitation he had grabbed Dream by the collar of his jacket and practically dragged him out of the saddle, the outlaw landing in the dirt with a muffled _thump!_

The other sat there for a moment, shocked, his mind clearly struggling to follow the chain of events that had landed him with his pants in the sand. George saw the moment something clicked on his face, and broke out in a sprint with a panicked shout.

“ _C’meeeere George!_ ” Came a yell from behind him, the syllables drawn out long and taunting. George quickened his pace, hoping to outrun the consequences of his actions.

It was no use. Dream had longer legs than him, and he was slowly closing in, the jingle of his spurs growing closer with each thrum of his feet on the hard packed earth. George’s breaths came in hot gasps, his strides stretched as far as they would go across the parched landscape. He knew he was fucked.

His heart was thudding in his ears, drowning out the ever-nearing footsteps of his companion, when he felt strong arms suddenly wrap around his chest, pulling him backwards abruptly. George stumbled and windmilled his arms frantically on the way down, twisting his way around as they both hit the ground hard. Dream had absorbed the majority of the fall and for a moment George thought he would be able to wriggle free, before he found himself suddenly flipped with Dream’s position. The expressionless mask stared down at him tauntingly as he was pinned to the ground, vacant stare in sharp contrast to the grin below it.

He hated that mask.

Before he knew what he was doing, George raised his hands to the sides of the mask, fingers tracing the smooth material. It was Dream’s sharp inhale that brought him back to his senses, his hands dropping back to the ground as if he had been burned. What was he _doing_? For what must have been the millionth time that day, heat rose to his face, the blush going all the way to his neck.

Dream seemed to recover fast, the grin faltering but making a reappearance. “So, what was that you were saying about shutting me up?”

His voice was startling this close. It sent a shiver down George’s spine, his gaze nervously flitting away as he swallowed thickly. “Wel-well you were quiet for a moment, weren’t you?” He nervously quipped, his skin ablaze wherever it was in contact with Dream. He’d like to say it was because of the dry desert heat, but his thoughts were dazed at best in that instant.

Dream’s smirk seemed to widen for some reason before he moved off of George, offering a had to the shorter man to pull him up. This time, George accepted the offer of support, and he was pulled onto his feet in an instant, the fellow outlaw dusting off his back quickly. George repressed another shiver at the feeling of his wide hands skimming over his shoulders.

The heat was getting to him, perhaps far more than he thought.

It was just his body playing tricks on him.

He wasn’t in his right mind.

Because people in their right minds didn’t have thoughts like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bone orchard- graveyard  
> Cad- mean person  
> ___
> 
> My most sincere of kisses for anyone who leaves kudos/comments (especially comments— I’m so shallow ok I crave that validation). Y’all really bringing me to tears with the feedback I’ve gotten so far, thank you so so much.
> 
> also wanted to start sending you guys to other dnf pics after my updates because there's some real talented authors in this community!
> 
>  **so on that note, go ‘raid’ backtopluto’s fic "Till There's Nothing Left to See" it’s a revolutionary war au and a damn good one**  
>  ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012541/chapters/65942425 idk if I can add links here lmao)


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